Possessive Much?
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Prequel/Sequel to "Thunderball." John notices that Sherlock has a tendency to get a little possessive around a certain pathologist and decided to have a bit of fun. For SammyKatz.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: SammyKatz requested a prequel/sequel to "Thunderball" with some possessive Sherlock. It's taken me a while to get around to it, but I hope I've done it justice :) Hope y'all enjoy it :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Dedication: For SammyKatz (happy belated birthday) x**

_**Possessive Much?**_

Sherlock looked up suspiciously as John entered the morgue singing 'Happy Birthday' loudly and slightly off-key. His eyes narrowed as they took in the tray he was carrying that contained three cups of coffee and a cupcake with a lit candle.

Molly looked up from her paperwork with a small giggle, blushing furiously as John set the tray down on the table and handed her the cupcake with a courtly flourish.

"Happy birthday, Molly," he said cheerfully, "make a wish," he added, indicating for her to blow out the candle.

Molly smiled and, closing her eyes, did as she was bid; eliciting a small round of applause from John.

"This is a place of work," Sherlock stated flatly from where he was examining a body.

John glanced at him, "It's Molly's birthday," he said, as though that explained everything, "loosen up a little."

Sherlock's only response was to narrow his eyes further as he considered how close John was to his pathologist. "I hope you're not planning on eating that, Molly," Sherlock continued, ignoring John's comment, "it would be unsanitary."

"Are you kidding? This is probably the cleanest place in the city," John scoffed, "don't listen to him, Molly," he added, turning his attention back to her, "it's your birthday, do as you like."

Sherlock made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a huff as he turned back to the corpse, although he was still watching the pair out of the corner of his eye.

A fact that didn't go unnoticed by John who raised an eyebrow, a suspicion forming in his mind. "All right, I'll let you get back to work then," he said with a smirk. "Once again, happy birthday," he said kindly, leaning over to kiss Molly on the cheek.

A loud crash from Sherlock's direction made them both jump and they turned to see Sherlock grumbling to himself as he picked up the tools he'd knocked over.

"Everything all right?" John asked innocently, fighting back a smile. Sherlock shot him a dark look, but said nothing and John lost the battle against his smile.

He was going to have fun with this.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite wanting to test his theory about Sherlock's reaction to his innocent interaction with Molly on her birthday, John hadn't had any opportunity. Mostly as the consulting detective had left him behind the last couple times he'd visited St. Bart's or had kept Molly busy with whatever he was working on whenever John had tagged along.

Thus it was that the next opportunity happened quite by accident.

Once again, it was all completely innocent: neither Molly or John had been paying particular attention to what the other was doing and had collided, resulting in Molly dropping the pile of books she'd been carrying.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologised in a rush, glancing to where Sherlock was apparently engrossed in an experiment and bending to pick up the books.

"No, it was my fault," John replied, "let me help you," he added, bending to help her and the two had smacked heads.

Unable to help herself, Molly had quickly dissolved into giggles at the ridiculousness of the situation and John had soon followed suit.

"Are you all right?" John asked as he sobered.

Molly nodded as she rubbed the sore spot on her head, "I'm fine," she assured him as her giggles died down, "you?"

"I'm fine," he assured her with a warm smile, "shall we try again?" he asked, indicating the books.

Molly giggled again and nodded as they both bent, more carefully this time, to pick up the books.

"There, no harm done," John declared as they picked up the last of them and he helped her carry them over to the table. For a brief moment he thought he heard Sherlock grunt, but when he glanced at the consulting detective he seemed as unperturbed as ever.

"Thanks John, coffee?" she asked, looking between the two men with a wide smile.

"None for me, thanks Molly, Sherlock?" he asked, turning to the other man. He frowned as he took in the sight of Sherlock who appeared to be frozen in place.

Sherlock roused himself, "No, thank you, Molly," he said, almost mechanically, barely glancing up from his microscope to shoot her a half-smile.

Molly shrugged, "Fair enough," she said cheerfully as she left the morgue.

John watched her go for a brief moment before turning to find Sherlock glaring at him, "What?"

"Molly asked you for coffee," Sherlock said flatly.

"She asked us _both_ if we wanted a coffee," John told him.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, John raised both his eyebrows; "Is there a problem?" he asked, watching as Sherlock continued to regard him suspiciously.

Sherlock's expression went blank, "Should there be?" he countered sardonically, turning back to his microscope.

John smothered a smile as he regarded him, he was _definitely_ going to have fun with this.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This one is inspired by _The Cosby Show_ episode "A Shirt Story."  
**

Sherlock grumbled to himself as he rolled over on the couch, pulling his dressing gown closer around him in an attempt to hide his shivering. John looked up from his laptop and eyed him.

"Are you all right?" he asked after a moment.

"I'm fine," Sherlock grumbled; at least he tried to grumble, it came out a bit more pitiful that he was intending.

John sighed, "Why do you always pretend not to be sick?"

"I'm not sick," Sherlock protested, "I'm resting."

"You're sulking," John corrected him.

Sherlock attempted to glare at him, "I'm not sulking."

John turned back to his laptop, "You always sulk when you're sick," he muttered.

"I'm not sick!"

John hid an amused smile as he looked across at him, "Then what are you?"

"I'm resting."

John rolled his eyes, "Impossible man," he muttered as Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, eyeing Sherlock warily.

"Everything's fine," John assured her as Sherlock ignored her, "was there something you wanted?"

"Molly is here," she said, dragging her eyes from Sherlock's prone form, "she's such a nice girl," she added, with a sly smile at John, "you should take her out some time, John."

"Molly is here to see _me_, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock spat with as much venom as he could muster, "_not_ John."

"She is?" John and Mrs. Hudson asked in unison.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, "I asked her to bring me some eyes for an experiment."

Mrs. Hudson threw her hands up in despair, "Oh Sherlock," she murmured, bustling out of the room.

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea for you to be experimenting when you're sick," John said, eyeing him doubtfully.

"Is that your professional opinion or do you just not like the idea of Molly doing something for _me_?" Sherlock retorted.

John stared at him in surprise, just as Molly appeared in the doorway.

She regarded Sherlock with concern, "Sherlock are you…?"

"Lying down," Sherlock interrupted her firmly before she could continue.

She bit her lip to keep back a smile, "I see," she said, "I'll just put these in the fridge then," she continued, carrying the small biohazard container into the kitchen.

John blinked in surprise as Molly returned with a blanket, "I thought you might be more comfortable with a blanket since you're…lying down," she said, tucking the consulting detective in.

Sherlock shot a triumphant look in John's direction and the latter tried desperately to hide an amused smile.

It would appear that the consulting detective was now experimenting on _him_.


	4. Chapter 4

After the blanket incident at 221B, John had considered reassuring Sherlock that he had no romantic designs on his pathologist whatsoever. However, after Sherlock used one of his favourite jumpers in an experiment (again) he decided that he wouldn't let the consulting detective off that easily.

Besides, he was having far too much fun watching him squirm.

And Sherlock was most definitely squirming now, although he was trying very hard not to show it.

John smirked to himself; once again it was completely innocent and (almost) out of his control.

Lestrade had requested their help on a case that had ended in the need to go undercover. Sherlock had cheerfully volunteered John for the role when it became clear that it would mean masquerading as a married couple. So John had retaliated by just as cheerfully suggesting Molly as his 'wife,' a suggestion Lestrade had happily agreed to.

Sherlock had been livid as he'd expected John to be lumbered with a WPC and he'd protested that it would place Molly in unnecessary danger. The look on Lestrade's face as he patiently reminded him about the extensive police presence throughout the operation had convinced John that Lestrade was just as suspicious about Sherlock's motives for protesting as he was.

In any case, John had gotten his way and he hid another smirk as he caught the almost murderous expression on Sherlock's face as he continued to dance with Molly.

"Remind me again what we're meant to be looking for," Molly said, sounding a little nervous and breaking him from his thoughts.

"We're not meant to be looking for anything," John told her, "that's what Sherlock and the others are here for. We're just the bait."

Molly nodded, looking around, she smiled faintly when she caught sight of Sherlock. "Do you think he's already solved it?" she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

John glanced at him and shrugged, "It's possible."

Molly looked up at him innocently, "Why else would he be watching us?" she asked, John hid an amused smile. "Maybe he's trying to signal us that we can leave," she added, glancing at Sherlock again.

John hid a smile, "Maybe he is," he agreed, "but let's just finish this song, hmm?"

Molly shrugged a shoulder, "Ok."

John shook his head slightly, amused that she could be so blind. Sherlock wasn't watching _them_, John doubted he'd taken his eyes off _her_ all evening.

...

**A/N: I have a couple of ideas to continue this, but _please_ do let me know if you have any scenarios x**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Wow, I feel a bit overwhelmed by all of your kind comments for the first few chapters. Thank you so much! I'm so pleased you're enjoying it :) Now I'm just worried I'll let you down (!) Thanks for your suggestions for how to continue this, some of them I have done already and some I will do further down the track. Please let me know if you have others and I hope you continue to enjoy this! x**

"Here you go, Molly," Lestrade announced cheerfully as he burst into the morgue. John glanced at Sherlock and smirked as Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he watched the detective.

"One block of chocolate and a coffee the 'size of your head' as promised," he continued, placing a block of chocolate and an oversized takeaway coffee on the bench next to her with a flourish.

A faint blush spread across Molly's cheeks and she smiled broadly, "Just what I needed, thank you," she said delightedly, "I'll get you those results," she added, picking up the coffee and heading to her office.

Lestrade watched her go for a brief moment before turning to find Sherlock towering over him, "What?" he asked innocently.

"Coffee and _chocolate_?" Sherlock spat with a scowl.

Lestrade shot an amused glance at John, who looked way to keep from laughing, "It's Molly's minimum bribe level to hurry through a report," Lestrade explained easily. "Besides, what's wrong with bringing her a little something to brighten up her day?" he added casually.

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously but he said nothing as Molly came back into the room and Lestrade tried desperately to hide his amusement as Sherlock remained steadfastly between them. Molly didn't seem to notice and handed him the report, mentioning the salient points and setting her coffee aside.

Despite the fact that his position gave John an excellent view of the scene, he would never be sure exactly what caused Molly's coffee to spill – although he had a pretty good idea of _who_ had contrived the 'accident.'

"Oh dear," Molly moaned as she started to mop up the spill.

John hid a smile as Sherlock shot Lestrade a triumphant look before he silently helped Molly clean up. "No harm done," he assured her, "no doubt it was the _size_ of the drink that caused the problem," he added, shooting Lestrade a dark look.

Molly's only response was a small sigh as she picked up the now empty cup, eyeing it regretfully.

Lestrade opened his mouth, but Sherlock interrupted him before he could speak, "I'll go get another one. White, no sugar, correct?" Molly nodded mutely, looking up at him in surprise.

Sherlock appeared to have surprised himself and he looked over at John to cover his small slip, "Coffee?" he asked, trying to appear casual.

John hid a smile, "That would be nice, thanks."

"I assume you will be continuing with your investigation," Sherlock said pointedly as he turned to Lestrade.

Lestrade decided to take the hint, "Of course," he agreed with a smirk before looking passed Sherlock to where Molly was disposing of the cup and napkins. "Thanks for the report Molly," he said with a smile holding it aloft and heading towards the door. He shot a conspiratorial wink in John's direction before he disappeared and John coughed to cover his laughter as he heard him whistling as he walked down the corridor.

The dark look Sherlock shot John informed him that the consulting detective was _not_ amused or pleased by John's obvious enjoyment of the brief interlude.

"I'll be back in a moment," Sherlock said, moving towards the door and shooting John a warning glance; John raised his eyebrows with an amused smile, causing Sherlock's expression to darken as he left the room.

"Should I be worried that Sherlock offered to get coffee?" Molly asked after he left, trying to keep her tone light but still looking concerned.

"No," John assured her, "I admit it's a bit unusual, but you'll be fine," he added, wondering if he could say the same.

In the end his coffee was fine, although both he and Lestrade received the silent treatment for a good week.

John didn't really mind though, it was rather peaceful.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is for LadyK1138 who requested Molly needing a date for a wedding (or similar) and John jumps in which annoys Sherlock, but I added a twist (hope you don't mind).**

John stifled a yawn behind his hand as he watched Sherlock and Lestrade argue over the basic points of the case they were working on. In his opinion, it was far too late in the evening (or early in the morning, depending on how you wanted to look at it) for this kind of discussion.

He glanced across at Molly, who looked every bit as worn out as he was, and gave her a small smile, "Got any big plans for the weekend?" he asked politely.

Molly surprised him by grimacing a little, "My cousin's getting married," she said with a rueful smile, "normally it would be fine but she's my _last_ cousin," she explained and John grimaced in sympathy.

"That must be hard," he said kindly.

Molly shrugged a shoulder, "Not really, it's the incessant questioning about when _I_ will find myself a 'nice young man' and settled down that bothers me," she said, unconsciously glancing at Sherlock.

"I'll go with you," he offered.

Molly's eyes widened as she looked back him, "I wasn't-that…I mean," she took a calming breath, "you don't have to do that," she told him.

"I know you weren't fishing," John assured her, "I want to do it. That's what friends are for, right?" he added with a smile.

"_What_ are friends for?" Sherlock demanded before Molly could reply as he caught the tail end of their conversation.

"Molly needs a date for her cousin's wedding, I volunteered," John explained.

"Oh you did, did you?" Sherlock grumbled, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

John shared a look with Lestrade who was typing out a message on his phone. In all honesty, rattling Sherlock's chain hadn't even occurred to him but now the opportunity seemed almost too good to be true.

"Yes," John replied boldly, holding Sherlock's accusing gaze steadily, "I did."

"What a shame that you are busy this weekend," Sherlock said, a hint of smugness in his tone.

John's brow furrowed, "With what?"

"Aren't you visiting your sister?" Sherlock asked innocently.

_Oh yes,_ John thought to himself as he mentally slapped himself on the forehead, _he's _definitely_ smug._

"I'm sorry Molly," he apologised, turning to her, "Sherlock's right."

Molly gave him a reassuring smile, "That's all right."

"I'll take you," Lestrade offered from the background, joining the conversation as he sent his message off.

Molly blinked, "Um…ok."

Lestrade's phone buzzed and he glanced at it, "Sorry, I have to head back to the Yard," he apologised, already halfway to the door. "Text me the details, Molly, and we'll work it out," he said with a smile, "thanks for the help, Sherlock," he added and was gone.

Molly looked a little bewildered, "Well, I guess I won't be alone after all," she said after a moment, breaking the brief silence that had descended. "I should find that invitation," she added under her breath before disappearing into her office.

John glanced at Sherlock and was surprised to find him looking almost as bewildered as Molly, but there was something else too. If he didn't know better, he'd say that Sherlock looked almost hurt by the turn of events.

Sherlock caught him watching him and his face became a mask of cool indifference as he turned away. John regarded his back thoughtfully and felt a small twinge of guilt as he wondered if he was maybe taking this experiment a little too far.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This one is for Ladida who requested Sherlock stalking Molly & John when they go out for dinner. Once again, I've changed it slightly but I hope it still works!**

Greg Lestrade took a sip of his wine and tried to remember the last time he'd had so much fun.

Not only was he doing a nice thing for a friend but he was also content in the knowledge that he had somehow managed to get under the skin of a certain consulting detective.

His contentment vanished as he caught sight of a waiter who looked suspiciously familiar and he choked on his drink.

"Are you all right?" Molly asked in concern, patting his back as he continued to cough.

"I'm fine," he gasped, "I just…thought I recognised someone."

"I hope it wasn't someone you know professionally," she quipped; he smiled as he loosened his tie and took a sip of water.

"Not exactly," he replied cryptically, he looked up and caught the waiter's eye. He shook his head as he recognised him, "Unbelievable," he murmured, torn between amusement and frustration.

"I'm sorry?"

Lestrade looked back at Molly, "Nothing," he assured her with a charming smile, "although I believe I have been remiss in my duties as a date," he continued, standing up, "shall we dance?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"I'd love to," Molly said with a smile as she took his hand.

"I was wondering," Lestrade began as he led her out to the dance floor, eyeing the waiter as he went, "just how much of a show you wanted to put on for your relations."

Molly's eyes lit up with mischief, "What are you suggesting?"

Lestrade pretended to think for a moment as he took her in the waltz hold, "Well, I did think that a slow and close dance number might be in order," he replied with a grin.

Molly smirked, "I think we can handle that."

Lestrade's grin widened as he pulled her closer, wondering absently why he'd never noticed her penchant for mischief before. Over her shoulder he could see the waiter's eyes narrow and he shot a wicked grin in response.

The music duly changed after a few moments and Molly rested her head on his shoulder as he pulled her a little bit closer.

Unable to resist he kissed her hand before resting it above his heart and she giggled, "You weren't kidding about a show."

"Might as well give them their money's worth," he replied in a low tone, smirking as he watched Sherlock abruptly turn on his heel and stalk from the reception venue.


	8. Chapter 8

"This is why you shouldn't spy on people," Lestrade informed the lump on the couch known as Sherlock Holmes, "you might see something you don't like."

John took another sip of his tea as he watched with mild amusement as Lestrade attempted to reason with the consulting detective who was doing his best to ignore him.

"I wasn't spying," Sherlock protested, still keeping his back to the detective.

"What other _possible_ reason could there have been for you to be at the wedding of Molly's cousin?" Lestrade asked.

"I was perfecting the art of being invisible in plain sight," Sherlock replied, finally rolling onto his back but making no attempt to leave the couch, "it was only logical to attempt it where I could be recognised."

Lestrade rolled his eyes at the feeble excuse, "Logic, of course."

"How was the wedding?" John interjected before Sherlock could make any retort.

"It was nice," Lestrade said, turning away from Sherlock, "Molly is good company and it was kind of fun fooling her family."

Both men ignored Sherlock's grunt from the couch as he turned his back on them again.

"The fact that it _wasn't a date_," Lestrade continued with deliberate emphasis, "made it more relaxing for both of us I think, easier to pretend."

John noticed Sherlock peep over his shoulder at Lestrade's words thoughtfully, he determinedly turned his back on them again when he caught John watching him. John shared an amused look with Lestrade.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good time," John said finally.

"I'm just glad I could help her out," Lestrade said, he glanced at his watch, "I really should be going." He held up a file, "I'll leave this here in case Sherlock decides he will look into it," he added before taking his leave.

After he left John flicked idly though the file, watching the still sulking Sherlock out of the corner of his eye as he did so. "This does look interesting," John commented, "maybe even a five," he added, still watching him closely.

"It's barely a three," Sherlock sniffed, "it was obviously the brother-in-law," he added, rolling onto his back and reaching for his phone. John watched as he sent a message before standing up and, stepping over the table, headed for his bedroom.

"I have an experiment to finish at St. Bart's," he said casually over his shoulder, "are you coming?"

"Of course," John replied, as Sherlock disappeared into his room, "I wouldn't miss it," he added to himself, wondering whether he'd be able to conduct another small experiment of his own.

...

**A/N: I have a couple of ideas based off some of your suggestions but, as I said, please feel free to send me some more. Thanks for all the support! x  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Part of the original prompt was to have Mycroft join in a little bit too, however, I've sort of dealt with his side in "Leave Her Alone," so this won't be quite as involved as the others. Thanks again for all the encouragement and suggestions, I actually know where I'm going with this now (just putting the finishing touches on the final chapter) so I won't be taking any more prompts for it but I did appreciate them! Also, just a shout out to 'cate' who I'm never able to thank properly but who always says such lovely things so: thank you very much x****Anyways, hope you enjoy! :)  
**

In the end, John didn't conduct any more experiments as circumstances took the matter completely out of his hands. It all began, as so many game changing events in Sherlock's life seemed to do, with Mycroft.

About a month after the wedding incident, Sherlock and John arrived at the morgue to find Molly deep in conversation with the elder Holmes.

"Ah, there you are," Mycroft greeted them with a pleasant smile, "I was wondering when you would show up," he added with a knowing look in Sherlock's direction that the latter chose to ignore.

"If this is for a case, I'm not interested," Sherlock said dismissively, removing his coat and scarf with studied indifference.

John sat down, out of the firing line, and watched the brothers face off. As usual, everything was cool politeness – on the surface anyway.

"Actually I'm not here to see you," Mycroft informed him, looking a trifle smug, "I require Dr. Hooper's assistance."

For a brief moment, Sherlock froze, "Why?" he asked thickly after a moment, feigning nonchalance as he picked an invisible piece of lint off his scarf.

"Her skills as a pathologist are second to none, you've said so yourself," Mycroft replied easily, "I thought I would see for myself."

Sherlock looked up from where he was straightening his jacket on the back of a chair, "What about the other work Molly is engaged in?" he asked, pinning his brother with a hard stare.

"All taken care of," Mycroft said with a sniff, "I'm not asking your permission, brother, I just thought you would appreciate being informed."

Sherlock's glared shifted from Mycroft to Molly, "You agreed?" he asked, sounding almost accusing.

Molly looked cornered and John felt a twinge of sympathy, "What else could I do?" she asked.

Sherlock returned his gaze to Mycroft and he took a threatening step towards him, "If you-" he began in a low, dangerous tone before he checked himself; calming himself with obvious effort, Sherlock attempted to smile pleasantly at his brother. "Since this case is so important you require Molly's exceptional skills, perhaps I might be of assistance?" he offered, his pleasant tone belied by the fact that he was speaking through clenched teeth.

"That really won't be necessary," Mycroft replied and John thought that he had a lot of nerve looking so triumphant considering his past history with his brother. "I'll _personally_ make sure she's well looked after," Mycroft added as he led Molly from the room, holding her loosely by the upper arm.

Molly looked back at them once and then was gone.

Silence reigned in the morgue for a long moment before Sherlock suddenly seized his coat and scarf and threw them on the ground. John jumped in surprise and looked from the pile of clothing to Sherlock's pensive face.

"I'm sure Mycroft will look after her," John said finally in a conciliatory tone.

Sherlock's eyes slid in his direction, "That is hardly the point," he retorted before he took a deep breath, straightened his suit jacket and calmly retrieved his coat and scarf.

"Shall we?" he added, as he slid into his coat and wrapped his scarf securely around his neck.

John followed him out in silence, wondering what bothered the consulting detective more: that Mycroft had commandeered 'his' pathologist or that she had been a (mostly) willing participant.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Once again, thank you for all the support for this :) Hope you like the updates! :D**

John had expected that Sherlock would attempt to interfere with Mycroft's case, especially since Mycroft had told him not to and Molly was involved. Instead, much to his surprise, Sherlock took up permanent residence on the couch in his sheet.

After almost a week of watching him sulk, John decided to broach the subject.

"I thought you would make more of an effort to 'assist' with Mycroft's case," he commented, trying to appear casual as he turned the page in his newspaper.

Sherlock grunted, "It was barely an eight," he replied, still with his back to John, "I solved it days ago."

John looked up, "Why don't you tell him then?"

Sherlock looked at him over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Right, silly question," John conceded, turning back to his paper. "I would have thought it would get Molly back sooner though," he added after a moment.

Sherlock grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "It's not that simple," and John chuckled to himself, shaking his head at the battle of wills between the brothers. He wondered absently who would hold out longest.

He was interrupted in his musings by the sound of Sherlock's phone receiving a message, he was about to ask what it was about when Sherlock suddenly dove off the couch and made a beeline for his bedroom.

"Problem?" John asked, putting his newspaper aside and standing up as Sherlock re-emerged, fully clothed and adjusting his scarf.

Sherlock paused briefly and John caught sight of something akin to fear in his hooded eyes, "Something's happened to Molly."

John barely had time to react before Sherlock had spun on his heel and disappeared out the door; grabbing his coat, John only just made it to the street in time to join Sherlock in the taxi before it sped off to the Yard.

Sherlock barely said a word unrelated to the case after that and remained entirely focused on locating Molly; except for a brief interlude when he disappeared for a few minutes with his brother. He didn't say anything about what had happened, but John had caught sight of Mycroft leaving the police station shortly after with what looked suspiciously like a bloody nose.

He doubted that he'd see Mycroft again for a while: placing Sherlock in danger was one thing, but clearly risking Molly's life was a whole other ballgame.

...

**A/N: As this is a prequel/sequel to "Thunderball" - please 'insert it here.' For the purposes of this story, it doesn't really matter if you haven't read it, but you may feel a little...cheated. For those of you who _have_ read it, nice going on Mycroft's part wasn't it? :P**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: As per my last note, this is now set _after_ the events in "Thunderball." Some of you asked for a John/Molly kiss which...I felt a little funny about, so this is what I did with it. For some reason, I can't save your name here but thank you for the prompt about Molly's phone (we both know who you are and perhaps that enough!) x**

The danger had passed.

Secure in the knowledge that Molly was safe and back at St. Bart's, Sherlock walked towards the morgue with two cups of coffee. Sitting in the back of the ambulance at the crime scene, he had tried (and failed) to find the words to tell her how much she meant to him.

Not today.

Today he was determined to set the record straight, if only to remind John and the others that she was _his_.

_Speak of the devil and he shall appear_, he thought to himself as he stopped outside the door and caught sight of John talking to Molly. He was about to make his presence known when John took Molly's hand in his and, to Sherlock's mounting horror, leaned in. He watched in slow motion as John closed the small distance between them and kissed her.

The two cups of coffee fell unnoticed from his hands; he was too late.

Sherlock sat up with a start to find himself on the couch at 221B, he took a moment to take stock of his surroundings and to assure himself that it had all been a dream. Or a nightmare to be more precise.

Whilst the last few months watching John and Lestrade with Molly had alerted him to the danger. The nightmare roused him into action: this was no time for sidestepping around the truth and using words that could easily be construed as merely friendship.

He had to tell her, _now_.

He stood up and was about to rush out to the morgue when it occurred to him that, given recent events, she might have taken the day of. He huffed with annoyance as he pulled out his phone and fired off a text.

_Where are you? – SH._

He frowned as the faint sound of tinkling bells drifted around the flat; his eyes narrowed as he isolated where the sound had come from.

Sure enough, sitting on John's bedside table was a phone in a pink cover.

Sherlock grit his teeth as he fired off another text, this time to John.

_We need to talk – SH._

_..._

**A/N: 'The Talk' is coming up in the next chapter, I promise - I just want to tweak a couple of things x  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: My apologies for the slight delay, I had intended to post this yesterday but didn't get around to it. Hope it's worth the wait! xx**

John wasn't entirely sure what to expect upon returning to 221B. He was used to Sherlock's curt text messaging style, but he was concerned that he'd received no reply when he asked for further clarification.

Of all the possible scenarios running through his head – most of which involved explosions or other disasters having occurred in the flat – Sherlock sitting in his chair, apparently unharmed, with his fingers steepled beneath his chin was not one of them.

A cursory glance around the flat told him that nothing appeared to be remiss there either; he caught sight of the phone sitting on the table in front of Sherlock and froze.

There might not have been an explosion but he was fairly certain one was brewing.

"I can explain," he said, looking up from Molly's phone to Sherlock's ominous expression.

"What are your intentions towards _my_ pathologist?" Sherlock asked with deceptive calm, ignoring his comment.

"I don't have any intentions," John replied looking confused.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Oh no?" he countered in the same unnervingly level tone. "You have been..._courting_ her for months and now you have her phone," he paused to level John with a hard stare, "What. Are. Your. Intentions?" he repeated as his tone took on a biting edge.

John bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, "Why? What are yours?"

"Don't change the subject," Sherlock spat as his carefully constructed calm slipped.

John ignored him, "You obviously have some or you wouldn't be bothered by mine," he pressed, amused.

"Molly is…" Sherlock frowned and changed tack. "I don't want to see her get hurt and as I have detected no _romantic_ regard in you I wish to know why you have been toying with her in this manner," he stated, ignoring John's implication and trying to get the conversation back onto its original track.

"I haven't been toying with Molly," John protested, _besides, look who's talking_, he added silently. "We're just friends," he continued with a shrug, "I can't help it if you've chosen to read something else into it."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed until they were almost slits and, struck by the absurdity of the whole situation, John burst out laughing.

"She's too in love with you to notice anyone else, you clot," he informed him as his laughter subsided. "I only have this," he continued, picking up the phone, "because she left it behind in the ambulance." He shook his head, "You have absolutely nothing to worry about from me, or Greg for that matter," he assured him.

Sherlock eyed him suspiciously for a long moment and John smirked, "And you _are_ worried, aren't you?"

Sherlock's scoff wasn't particularly convincing and John rolled his eyes. "Why don't you take this," he suggested tossing the phone to Sherlock, "and go talk to her."

Sherlock caught the phone easily, still watching John, "Just friends?" he clarified.

"Yes."

"Always something," Sherlock muttered finally as he got to his feet and, pocketing the phone, headed out the door.

"And be nice," John called after him, shaking his head.

Whether he'd taken John's advice or not, when Sherlock eventually returned to 221B he was in a much happier state of mind and had a faint smudge of lipstick on his cheek.

...

**A/N: One more to go I think...but this isn't as big a cliffhanger as last time so I hope that's ok :) Thanks again for all the support x**


	13. Epilogue

**A/N: Here's the last chapter/epilogue. My apologies if it doesn't give you all the resolution that you may have wanted (I have done Sherlock 'confessing' a few times and couldn't think of anything original in that regard - hence the lipstick in the last chapter), but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thanks for all the support and sorry for the slight delay in posting this! x**

_**Epilogue**_

Lestrade followed John into 221B and stopped short at the sight of Molly nestled comfortably in Sherlock's lap, deep in a whispered conversation as they went through an autopsy report together.

Sherlock paused in his whispering to look up at him with raised eyebrows, "Problem?"

Lestrade shook himself, "No, none at all," he said hastily, following John into the kitchen.

"That," he said in a low tone and jerking a thumb in the couple's direction, "is something that I never thought I would see and will _definitely_ take some getting used to."

John smirked as he looked back into the living room to where Sherlock and Molly had resumed their whispered conversation, punctuated every so often by Sherlock's deep chuckle or Molly's soft giggle.

"It's nice though," John replied, handing Lestrade a drink and sitting down at the table. "And I still say it's about time," he added as he took a sip of his drink.

"Oh, there's no denying that," Lestrade agreed, taking the seat opposite John.

John leaned back in his chair and eyed the detective thoughtfully, "How long have you known?" he asked finally.

Lestrade took a sip of his drink, "Honestly? A few years now."

"_Years_?" John said in disbelief, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "How?"

Lestrade smirked, "Haven't you ever wondered why Sherlock dislikes Anderson so much?"

John shrugged, "I just figured it was Sherlock," he said, a little confused by the topic change.

Lestrade's smirk broadened into a grin, "Oh no, there's a reason for it," he assured him, leaning forward with a conspiratorial air. "Sherlock had already known Molly for a few months before I'd met him and it was a few months after _that_ that I even became aware of her existence," he paused to take a sip of his drink. "Anderson had just been brought onto the team and was a little bit…cocky, shall we say," he continued, quirking an eyebrow; John hid a smirk.

"He mistook Molly for an intern at the hospital and managed to make a rather clumsy pass at her whilst practically ordering her to get the coffee," Lestrade shook his head, "Sherlock was _livid_. Well, you know what he's like," he added a shade dismissively as he sat back in his chair, "he treats everyone as inferior but woe betide the man who _dares_ to belittle his pathologist."

Lestrade paused and took another sip of his drink, "Anyway, Sherlock went into a long and particularly vicious tirade of deductions that ended in him forcing Anderson to apologise for his 'misguided and obviously insecure reaction to an intelligent female,'" he quoted, chuckling a little at the memory. "I thought he'd let the matter drop there but for the next month Anderson was harassed at odd hours with mysterious phone calls."

He shook his head, "We never could prove it was him but there was little doubt in anyone's mind," he smirked, "and he hasn't said a civil word to him since."

"I guess we should count ourselves lucky then," John said after a moment, Lestrade raised a questioning eyebrow. "That he didn't decide to take any kind of revenge on _us_," John explained.

Lestrade looked thoughtful, "I'm not so sure he didn't," he said finally, "now that I think about it, I've been getting a lot of spam in my inbox lately from a dating website and advertisements for, er, body improvements."

John frowned, "Actually, my spam filter seems to have been playing up in that respect lately too."

Both men looked into the living room suspiciously to find Molly asleep on Sherlock's shoulder as he continued to read the report in a low tone.

After receiving no response to a question, Sherlock finally noticed that she had drifted off. His expression softened as watched her sleep for a few moments before he pressed a swift kiss on her forehead.

He froze as he noticed the silence from the kitchen and looked up to the find the two men watching him, grinning broadly as they saluted him with their drinks.

"I see you have moved on from matchmaking to voyeurism," he said flatly after a moment, both men stared at him in surprise. "Don't look so shocked," he admonished them with a sniff, "once I realised you had no designs on Molly it took very little imagination to figure out what you were trying to do."

"So why start dating Molly? I thought you didn't like to be manipulated," John retorted.

Sherlock shifted in his seat, unconsciously tightening his hold on Molly, "Because she's mine," he replied with a touch of petulance. He narrowed his eyes as he regarded them, "And I trust you will respect that in future," he added before turning his attention back to the report.

John and Lestrade shared an amused glance, "Definitely about time," John said.

"And worth putting up with a little spam," Lestrade agreed as the pair chinked their drinks together.


End file.
